


The Fast Lane

by Brighteyes3216



Category: Cars (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cars AU - but with people!!, Lawyer Harry, M/M, Racercar driver Draco
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-03-14 23:32:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13600776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brighteyes3216/pseuds/Brighteyes3216
Summary: After being disowned, Draco heads to America. Once there, he flounders, until he decides to put his skills to use: racing. He steamrolls into an old classmate's life, and things change.





	The Fast Lane

**Author's Note:**

> Tada! A cars AU!

**Chapter 1:**

              Draco takes another drag on his cigarette, blowing the smoke out in a long slow stream. He smirked as it curled towards the ceiling of the lounge. He was sprawled over across an arm chair, head against the armrest and one leg draped over the other. His jumpsuit was half off, tied around his waist, leaving his mint green undershirt fully on display. His white blond hair was a mess. He had not bothered to style it, since he was just going to shove a helmet on and ruin it.

              Blaise made a disgusted scoff at the blond. His dark eyes followed the smoke. “ _Drake_ ,” he snapped, emphasizing the name, “Shouldn’t you be down on the track? I don’t know, _getting ready to race?!_ ”

              Draco pouted at his best friend after taking another drag. “They won’t let me smoke down there,” he complained, “Something about it being a safety hazard.”

              Blaise rolled his eyes. “Maybe you should quit, then,” he replied, voice dripping with fake sincerity, “And you can’t smoke up here either.”

              Draco groaned, rolling up to standing. “You’ve been around Americans too long, Blaise,” he commented, “They’re making you no fun.” He snuffed out his cigarette on an appetizer plate.

              He stretched, his lean muscles accentuated by the stretchy material of his undershirt. Draco made a contented noise and dropped his arms. With smirk at the other agents in the box, he headed out the room. As the door was closing, he heard one of the female agents say, “Is it just the two of you, or are all Brits this attractive?”

              Draco was still chuckling to himself as he made his way down to the loading. People cheered as they caught sight of him. He smiled, greeted, waved, and winked. He oozed charm. The fans loved him; he was the up-and-coming rookie. The attractive Brit in an American sport. He acted like he love it, soaking up all the attention given to him. In reality, all the women fawning over him made him uncomfortable. If it had been men …

              By the time Draco made it down to the track, wading through all his admirers, it was almost time to line up. He untied his jumpsuit and slipped his arms through the sleeves. He scrunched his nose as he zipped it up; while he was grateful for the sponsorship, he did not care much for Starbucks as a coffee shop. It could be because he is not a big fan of coffee. Or also, that his tea is never quite right. Oh well. Americans seemed to love it, and the company wanted him to be their racecar driver. He was not going to argue with having his entry fees and car maintenance paid.

              Running his hand through his hair, Draco walked over towards the tent pavilion set up for the drivers. Though he did not like to socialize, he needed to at least appear to be civil with his fellow drivers. Blaise had heard that the racers found him standoffish. It was not like it was all his fault. They were not particularly warm to him either, especially a select few.

              “Lookie who finally graced us with his presence!” a man called out. Speak of the devil …

Justin Fitch-Fletchly. He drove a yellow and black car for the General Mills Honey Nut Cheerios. He was arrogant, petty, and jaded. “Where’ve you been, Jeeves? There’s a race happening, in case you were too busy with your tea!” A couple other drivers chuckled, Justin’s hanger-ons.

              Draco snorted, picking up an apple. “No, Bumble-Bee, I was busy with my agent,” he replied nonchalantly, smirking at the vein that throbbed on Justin’s forehead at the nickname. How the man could still feel so superior when driving a car decorated with a large bee baffled him. “But don’t worry, I’ll still find time to beat you,” he said with a wink. He wandered to the other side of the pavilion before the man could come up with a retort.

              There were a couple drivers on that side, away from Justin and his lackeys. It was mostly the older, senior drivers, like Crouch, Bagman, and Kingsley. Of the men, only Kingsley Shacklebolt was a threat to him in this race. The black man looked to be about Draco’s father’s age; he had been racing, and winning, for twelve years. His car was dark blue; his sponsor was Lowe’s. The man was tied in points with Draco, and as much as it pained him, Justin was tied with them as well.

              Kingsley, ever the civil one, clapped Draco on the shoulder. “You ready to race?” he asked, then frowned. He sniffed softly, then sighed. “You really shouldn’t smoke,” he said, gearing up for a lecture. Draco barely resisted rolling his eyes. What was it with people trying to get him to stop smoking? He tuned the older man out; this was not the first time Kingsley had preached to him on the health risks and dangers due to their profession. He just smiled faintly and nodded through the man’s speech. Kingsley had to know Draco would not heed his advice.

              After apparently finishing his spiel, Kingsley clapped his shoulder one more time and then wandered back to the other older drivers. Satisfied with his social interaction, Draco left the tent. He wandered around: nodding at drivers and pit crew, waving to the stands, smiling at the fans out on the green. In his walking, he had picked up his helmet, resting it against his hip. He glanced up at the jumbotron. Almost time.

\- . x . X . x . -

              _And here they are! The cars are making their way onto the track. This season has been an surprising one. Three cars are tied for the lead with points: #48, #33, and #28. Kingsley Shacklebolt is our veteran champion, driving #48. In #33, Justin Fitch-Fletchly has been inches from victory for five long years. And then the rookie, Drake Mallory, who has been taking the field by storm in #28. We are in for an exciting race today_

\- . x . X . x . -

              _There’s the green flag, and away they go! The three leaders pull away from the pack._

\- . x . X . x . -

              _Mallory spins out into the green. He looks to have been nudged out by Fitch-Fletchly. He is okay and pulls back into the race, but he is now at the back of the pack. It will take him time to work his way back to the leaders._

\- . x . X . x . -

_There is a massive wreck behind #48 and 33. We’re now under a yellow flag. Merciful heavens, #28 is driving through the wreckage. Mallory is an amazing driver, but there is no way the rookie can make it out of there in one-piece … And he’s done it! Mallory does not pit and now takes the lead._

\- . x . X . x . -

_#28 is rounding the last curve, with a considerable lead. Looks like we’re about to have a new champi – Mallory has blown a tire! #48 and #33 pull away from the pack to close the gap._

\- . x . X . x . -

_It’s too close to call! We’ll have to wait for the official video review. This is the most unbelievable ending in the history of the world, and we don’t even know who won!_

\- . x . X . x . -

_Ladies and Gentlemen. For the first time ever, we have a three-way tie!_

\- . x . X . x . -

              Draco grumbled to himself as he made his way back to the changing rooms. He had just completed his obligatory schmoozing with the Starbucks’ bigwigs. Now, all he wanted was to shower and take a nap. He was physically, emotionally, and mentally drained. And, on top of that, he would have another race to complete in ten days’ time. In Utah, of all places. But there were fans all along his walk down. Thus, he buried his annoyance and exhaustion under a charismatic smile and powered through.


End file.
